


Shape of You

by thewaterfalcon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Oral Sex, Sex, Smut, theocissa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-17 00:32:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10582701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewaterfalcon/pseuds/thewaterfalcon
Summary: Prompt:~Theo/Narcissa~moonlight~a key





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:**
> 
> ~Theo/Narcissa  
> ~moonlight  
> ~a key  
> 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

_I’m in love with the shape of you_

_We push and pull like a magnet do_

_Although my heart is falling too_

_I’m in love with your body_

* * *

 

There was no getting around it; what she was doing was wrong.  

 

In fact, there were several distasteful words used to describe women that did what she was doing. Narcissa knew that and wished that the knowledge was enough to make her stop.

 

As it stood, however, it was not.

  


It had begun with a note and a key, and ended with a bathtub and a bed.

 

_His bed..._

 

...and now, probably hers, too.

 

She tries not to think about that. It seems _even more_ wrong when she does.

 

So she doesn’t.

 

She doesn’t think or speak of it, and she certainly doesn’t waste any mental energy attempting to understand it.

 

She simply lives and breathes and feels it…

 

...and she _loves_ it.

 

* * *

 

It started with a note.

 

A note, and the fact that, on _that_ particular night, through a sheer coincidence, Narcissa had accepted this invitation that her sister had extended to her daily. And _because_ she had accepted the invitation to go out, for once, Narcissa didn’t look like the haggard old fishwife she had been, until that night, permanently masquerading as.

 

They find a bar.

 

 _Andromeda_ finds them a bar.

 

A grotesquely loud and throbbing Muggle affair.

 

She wishes the thrum of music and the crowds of bodies repulsed her. Because at least then she might feel like herself.

 

But she isn’t herself.

 

She isn’t Narcissa, wife of Lucius and mother of Draco who would only be seen socially at a black-tie Ministry event.

 

Because now, apparently, she is Narcissa, a four-year long widow and mother to a boy who left pretending to find himself but in reality was hiding, who accompanies her wayward sister to Muggle bars with too-loud music and too-disgusting toilets.

 

They’re on their fifth drink when the note appears.

 

 _Literally_ appears before her very eyes, and Narcissa stares...

 

...as though she’s never seen magic before.

 

It asks what she’s drinking and then-

 

-as though from nowhere-

 

-he appears-

 

-as seamlessly as his note.

 

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he says, and his voice is deeper, different than before.

 

A lot of him is different than before.

 

“Likewise, Theodore.”

 

They talk into the night, about his family, never hers, and how they’re doing okay.  
  
Long after Andromeda declares the _night too old_ , whatever that means.

 

For hours they drink fast and talk slow, and then Theo operates something called a _jukebox_...and suggests they share a dance.

 

And they do, a dance on the terrace, under the moonlight.

 

Her hand finds his waist as she puts her body on him, neither talking too much.

 

And she knows it’s wrong.

 

She _knows_ it’s wrong.

 

She knows there are words for women like her.

 

But it doesn’t stop her following his lead...

 

...or following him home.

 

* * *

 

  


Theo’s flat is a short walk away, and Narcissa equally wishes it was closer and further away.

 

Because there are words for women like her.

 

Yet, she still kisses him first.

 

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks. It throws her off guard as he searches for his key, which he fumbles to get in the lock.

 

What she sees of his flat is small, yet neat. The only things she sees in great detail are his bedsheets, and all she knows for sure is that they now smell like her.

 

Yet, she still kisses him first.

 

“I think I’m in love with your body,” he says, his hands confirming his words.

 

Her hands find the small, perfectly round buttons of his shirt. She doesn’t even undo them or wonder if it’s perhaps a shirt he favours above others as she rips it open, hands eagerly roaming underneath as her tongue pushes into his mouth.

 

His left palm cups the back of her head whilst his right feels one breast, and then the other, until, in what feels like perfect timing, Narcissa feels the backs of her thighs touch what can only be his bed, and allows herself to be thrust upon its surface.

 

She lets him place himself on top of her, and claim her lips as his own once more.

 

His hand reaches for her breast once more, this time its partner joining in, and she pushes her chest upwards into his palms, before taking them in her own, her lips leaving his as she looks into his eyes, and guiding his fingertips to the hem of her top as she lets out a nonsensical _nnnrgh_ of frustration during the long seconds it takes to reach behind her torso to undo her bra.

 

It’s the first time his hands meet her bare flesh.

 

It’s the first time she moans his name...

 

...out loud.

 

“Say that again,” he growls. _Demands._

 

“Theo,” she relents, elongating the _o_ in surprise as his teeth grind gently over a nipple, and then the other.

 

His hips move forward, a frustrating friction of denim on whatever-the-hell-expensive-fabric-her-own-trousers-are-made-from.

 

“These need to go,” he says.

 

She can’t agree more.

 

And they do go, in a flurry of pulls and tugs and the flinging of troublesome garments across his room.

 

 _Theo’s_ room.

 

Because that’s where she is.

 

And she wouldn’t wish to be anywhere else.

 

He makes his way down her body in a river of kisses.

 

Tantalising kisses that are full of need, and desire and a terrifying electricity.

 

And suddenly he’s exactly where she needs him to be, and his fingers are reaching around the thin sides of her underwear…

 

...and he’s pulling them downwards, over her legs…

 

...and then they’re discarded like the rest and his lips meet the inside of her thighs before she can directly process what is happening.

 

Not that it matters.

 

Because she knows she doesn’t possess any want to stop him.

 

She wouldn’t stop the point of his tongue from running upwards, and then downwards, and then upwards again, separating her soft folds. She wouldn’t stop the way he voiced _mmmm_ at the taste of her or the way he began to hone into her most sensitive point.

 

No, she wouldn’t stop him…

 

...wouldn’t stop this.

 

Perhaps it was the sheer enthusiasm in which he pleasured her or the way he suddenly stopped just as he’d began to build a more than satisfying momentum, only to start a slow, teasing process to build up to it again, or maybe it was simply the fact that it had been an achingly long time since a man, _any_ man had utterly and truly desired her, that made a simple orgasm feel like the Earth moving beneath them.

 

He begins to make his way up her body once more, leaving a second trail of kisses in his wake.

 

She tastes herself when he reaches her mouth.

 

He smirks when she reaches down his body, her eyes widening slightly as she feels his impressive size.

 

 _He likes that_ , she thinks.

 

And she gasps as he pushes, gently at first, but not gently for long, into her.

 

At first, he makes love to her…

 

...and then he fucks her.

 

* * *

 

There was no getting around it.

 

Narcissa _liked_ being wrong.

 

Hell, Narcissa _loved_ being wrong.

 

“Narcissa?” she hears from the floor of the hallway, “you ready?”

 

She smiles as she stands.

 

There are words for women like her, but quite frankly, she couldn’t care less.

 

“I’m not quite ready, Theo,” she calls back, “in fact, I still need to have a bath...you can join me if you wish.”

 

His footsteps thunder up the stairs as Narcissa drops the flimsy satin robe and makes her way steadily, carefully, towards her bathroom.

 

He appears at the door as she gets set to sink into the steaming water, “Well, every day discovering something new,” he remarks with a grin.

 

His eyes drift over her naked frame. “Fuck,” he exclaims, “I’m in love with the shape of you.”

 


End file.
